Out of the Blue: A Papa Bear and Murphy´s Law
by HoganTime
Summary: Chapter 4 new. This is the story on how Colonel Hogan came to Stalag 13.
1. And so it begins

I posted the first three chapters of this story some time ago. However I then did not update for a long time (sorry) and when I returned to work on it I was dissatisfied by the turn the story had taken. Over the past week I have been rewriting the story so that it fits my ideas better. The first chapter is finished. Chapter two and three are nearly finished but I have to reread them again and make some minor changes. The rest of the story is outlined roughly and still needs work but I hope to finish it soon.

A word of thanks to those who read the earlier version and commented on it. Sorry to them also, because this story is different in lots of ways. Still I hope you will enjoy reading it.

**Out of the Blue: A Papa Bear and Murphy´s Law**

_**Chapter 1: And so it begins**_

It was a morning like many others. The sun greeted the humming of the engines of the returning B-17 bomber squadrons. Another night of air raids was over. Another day had begun.

The airfield near Birmingham was small, located in the countryside, far enough from the city to not really feel its existence. Here the planes reigned. Their humming, roaring and the reflection of the sunlight in their windowglasses dictated daily life on this air-base.

War was ever present and yet was not real. For many young pilots, the war was but a game. They came to this base full of dreams, full of romantic ideas and ideals about flying, freedom and honour.

Today this vision had remained intact. All crews had returned, not without damage to the planes, but without damage to the people. The pilots could rest now, even though the war continued. They had earned their eight-hour reprieve from reality. The airfield now belonged to the ground-crews.

Meanwhile in the small, but still largest office of the air-base, two highly decorated generals were fighting a war of their own.

The first rays of sunlight fell through the only window in the office, right onto general Roger Hendrix silver coloured hair. It made him seem even more impressive than he already was. Thick, still black eyebrows protruded from his forehead. His silvery moustache glittered in the early morning light.

His opponent was general Eric Barton. Younger, but for a soldier already old. He had been removed from active combat duty five years ago, becoming both general and paper-pusher. He greatly respected Hendrix, both for who he was now and who he had been, as his former instructor, when he first joined the AirCorps.

Today was one of the rare occasions that the two had a difference of opinion.

"You can't be sure about this!", General Barton exclaimed as he stared at his colleague in front of him. Only a desk and on it a huge pile of paperwork separated them.

General Hendrix smiled calmly. He knew the short temper of the younger man. Not much was needed to blow up his temper but on the other hand not much was needed to calm him down again. He woudl try for the latter.

"I am very serious actually", he said, his eyes never leaving his colleagues face, "The Germans are overrunning us. Their bombs are destroying our cities. Every night hundreds or thousands of civilians die. I-", he stopped and then corrected himself, "We cannot let them continue. We need detailed information about their bombings. When, where and how. We need a sabotage and intelligence unit behind enemy lines.".

Barton shook his head violently as if trying to deny the truth in the elder mans words. Suddenly the small office seemed too small for the two of them. The walls were closing in on him. He too had a family, but he was responsible for more than his family and that was why he did not give up.

"Sir, you cannot possibly believe that a sabotage and intelligence unit could operate from a POW camp. No man in his right mind would volunteer for such an assignment and with all due respect sir, I refuse to send any of my men to an almost certain death.".

Hendrix got up from his chair. It seemed to sigh with relief as the corpulent generals weight finally left its lanky frame. He walked over to the only window, opening it. Sucking in the fresh air he pondered whether he would say what he was about to say.

He looked down at his body. Once he had taken pride in his muscled, athletic appearance, those days were long gone. WIth old age and the general striped had come an excess of weight and the typical signs of old age. He flew a desk and he would fly one for the rest of the war but he remembered with glee his days as a combat pilot. No assignment had been too risky for him, no physical action too much for his athletic body.

Could he send a man into what very possibly would be that mans death? When he was a young pilot, he would have taken this assignment, he was sure, but he would not have realised the dangers, his mind full of his duty, the honour, the adventure. Maybe he was thinking about this too easily? Maybe he was counting on the ignorance of the man he had chosen instead of his capabilities?

Inwardly he shook his head. The plans had been made, they were good. The man that would carry them out had been carefully selected. All that was left was to propose this plan to him and get permission from Barton, who was responsible for the selected man. There were no problems and there would be none in the future.

Finally he spoke. "I believe that missions are carefully planned and executed with utmost care and under cover in a POW camp, it would be possible." His posture showed that he would accept no denial.

General Barton saw this but could not help shaking his head in disbelief. When the elder general had opened the window, he had seen his thoughtful look. He had seen that the general himself was having doubts.

Barton respected Hendrix, the general had been his superior officer for a long time. Brave, loyal and a good friend, Barton would trust him with his life, but now he doubted his judgement, for the first time, maybe because he silently feared what was coming next.

Hendrix continued: "I have already selected a man for this job. Here is his file. As you see, he falls under your command, that is why I have summoned you here today. I want you to be here when he hears about this assignment, I want you to give him permission to carry it out.". Again the "don´t dare to say no" look from the general.

Barton took the file from Hendrix, but he already knew what it would contain. He and Hendrix thought very much alike. There was only one man crazy enough to pull this stunt, there was only one man who would not think twice, who would accept, because he wanted to fight.

He opened the file and as he had expected there was the picture of a dark-haired, handsome man, grinning broadly at the camera even if he had been told a thousand times to look serious and wipe the grin of his face. Yes, Colonel Robert Hogan would agree, Barton was sure.

This knowledge filled him with dread. He had come to like the cocky Squadron Leader from the 504th. Inspiring great loyalty amongst the men, he was also famous for his daring, his almost insane courage and flying skills already a legend.

However, Barton doubted that Hogan would succeed. He was too reckless, too arrogant. He was not careful enough and although Barton sometimes felt compelled to court martial the man for his insolence, he would not relish sending him to his death. Up in the air, Hogan might be formidable. Down on the ground, in enemy territory, he would get himself shot within ten seconds after opening his mouth.

Barton shook his head. "I can't agree. I just can't, he wouldn't last a minute. How can you even think about this?".

Hendrix looked at him, suddenly looking so very old, so very tired. "I have to think about this, Eric, even if I do not like it. This operation is vital. Dammit, Eric, we're losing the war! We cannot lose this war, don't you understand? Don't you see what is going to become of the world with Hitler in power?".

Barton shrugged. "What do we know? Maybe Hitler is not what everyone wants us to believe him to be?".

Now it was Hendrix´ turn to shake his head in disbelief. "Eric! What are you talking about? Haven't you heard from those few POW´s that escaped back to England? The Geneva Convention is a mere formality, POW´s are tortured, starved. And Hitler not so bad? Our cities are bombed every single night. People are vanishing all over Germany into internment camps. Eric, please, return to reality!".

Barton knew the moment Hendrix started speaking that he should not have said what he said. He knew the moment the words came out of his mouth that he was out of line and above all, wrong.

He put his hand on Hendrix shoulder. "I´m sorry. It was wrong for me to say that. It is just that I don't like this plan, or maybe I like my men too much..."

The tension in the room was unbearable. Barton felt his resistance crumbling. Both men knew what they had to do, but both of them also could not do their job without thinking and especially without caring. Their heart would not be silent and this heart weighed heavily on their minds, every single day the war went on.

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Their thoughtful silence was interrupted by a soft knock on the door. A corporal stuck his head in. "Sirs, Colonel Hogan is here.".

With a soft look at Barton, Hendrix said: "Bring him in, Hawkins, bring him in.".

"Yes, sir!". The corporal vanished. Seconds later, someone knocked at the door again, this time, not very softly. The knock was immediately followed by the appearance of Colonel Robert Hogan.

He flashed the Generals a grin and then threw them an almost perfect salute. "Sirs, Colonel Robert Hogan reporting.".

Both Generals looked at each other, Hendrix´ look was almost pleading. Barton nodded ever so slightly, sending a silent plea to heaven.

_Please God, if you do exist, stop all this. Stop this dying, this suffering, stop this war. Stop young men from going into death. Stop me and all others from sending them there and please God, please, I do not want to send any more letters to parent whose only son has died, please._

His face drained of emotion he listened to the conversation between Hendrix and Hogan. The decision had been made and although his feelings did not like it, his mind knew that it was necessary.

Hendrix addressed the Colonel. "Colonel Hogan, we have summoned you here today to present you with a mission, a voluntary mission, a Top Secret mission.".

Hogan stiffened just a bit at the mention of the words "Top Secret". Some of his friends and fellow officers had gone on Top Secret missions and had never returned.

"You know what I mean by Top Secret, I assume.".

Hogan could not resist to throw in a touch of lightness, or was it cynism: "Of course, sir, those are the missions after which you are sent home to your family, in a bag.".

His attempt at lightness failed miserably, he realised, maybe, because it was so true, because all three of them knew how often it was true.

Barton flinched at Hogans words, again doubting his decision, the decision made in the slight nod towards Hendrix. Hogan obviously did not realise when to shut his mouth, a characteristic not well received in Nazi Germany. A characteristic, BArton corrected himself silently, not well received in either army. Hogan had spent many hours on cleaning duty for his insolence.

Hendrix who, once again, saw the look of doubt returning to Bartons face decided to continue, as if no word had been spoken.

"Colonel, you heard about our problems with the Germans, I presume?", at Hogans nod, he continued, "We need information about their bombings, we need information on their troop movements, their defences, we also need someone to sabotage their transport to the front and above all, we need someone to assist allied POW´s to escape.".

Hogan raised his eyebrows in understanding. "A sabotage unit behind enemy lines?".

Hendix nodded, "You could say so. However behind enemy lines will mean from within a POW camp.".

Hogans eyes widened, comprehension suddenly dawning on his face. "You want me to let myself be captured by the Germans? You want me to rot away in a POW camp for the rest of the war! General this is absurd. The Germans will not allow me out of camp whenever I want, will they. They are not so willing to give out dynamite I heard and they do not take sabotage as lightly as you do!".

Barton nodded his silent agreement, but Hendrix continued, as if the Colonel had not spoken at all.

"You will be given the full support of allied headquarters. We will provide you with a team of highly trained commando´s and we will send supply drops, once you have established your operation.".

Hogan almost laughed at the absurdity of this situation. They could not possibly believe that this was ever going to work? Yet somehow he felt compelled to do it. The idea alone, the adventure, it was almost too much to resist.

"When am I to leave?", he asked. The words seemed to come from a different person. Someone else was taking decisions for him. His rational thought tried to stop him, but he would not listen. He would go, he would do it, period.

Hendrix glanced at Barton one last time. When the younger man nodded, he continued. Barton had made his decision Hogan had made his. Now it was time to act. No emotions should hinder this mission now.

"You will leave tomorrow on a bombing raid over Hamburg. You will be shot down and captured. We will give you a radio. Make contact with us when you are in camp.".

Hogan shook his head. "I want no radio, nor do I want my men to come with me on this mission. They cant help being my crew. I will go alone.".

"Alone?", Hendrix asked in amazement.

"Yes, sir, alone. I dont want commandos, I don´t want a radio or anything suspicious. I will see what I can do once I am there.".

Both generals simultaneously nodded.

"Very well, Hogan. Good luck.". They did not need to say more. Hogan saluted, once more flashing them his broad smile, before he turned and left. They heard a motorcycle starting, then quiet. Hogan was gone.

Both of the men stared at the door, wondering whether they should be pleased or sad that the Colonel had so readily agreed. Was there to be another life on their conscience? Had the COlonel even thought before agreeing?

_I should retire, Im getting to old for this. I am no longer detached enough to send men to their deaths._

Hendrix thought, not knowing that Barton was thinking the same. A crash startled them from their thoughts. The window had slammed shut.

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The motorcycle skidded into a shrieking halt. Deep in thought, Hogan dismounted and made his way towards his quarters. These quarters had been his home now for almost a year since he had become commander of the 504th in June 1941. He dropped himself onto his bunk and stared at the ceiling.

Now that the immediate excitement of having a new and dangerous mission wore off, he began to realise what consequences this decision could have.

A pang of guilt shot through him as he thought of his parents, his brothers, Connecticut. Would he ever see them again? He remembered his mothers tears, his fathers silent hope that he would be safe, when he had left for England. This next assignment was more. It was not being up in the air and dropping bombs in relative, very relative, safety.

He would be in enemy territory, in a POW camp. Nothing good was said about those camps. Those that returned were never the same. Brutal commandants, a vile sergeant of guard. Torture, pain, tears. Fear ruled those places.

He would be going there out of free will. He might just as well jump out of the window right away.

Was it worth it? Was whatever he could do there before he died worth the pain of his family?

Hogan shook his head. He had made his decision. He would go, he had to. This operation was vital. If the Germans could be sabotaged wherever possible, it could shorten the war for years, how many lives would have been spared?

He got up, strode over to his desk and began to write.

_Dear Mum, Dad, Tom and George,_

_I hope you will never read this, but if you do, know, that I will not return. I am very sorry if you have to read this, I wish I could make it easier. Easiest would be if I could return, but I cannot, now. Maybe you can find comfort in the fact that, because of what I did, what I am now about to do, the war will be shortened, which means that Tom and possibly even George, can return to you sooner._

_I will not ask you to forget me, because I know, it will be impossible for you (even if I say so myself). You were never people to forget those you loved. I love you too, all of you, more than you could ever imagine. _

_I also will not ask you to find comfort in the fact that I died for our country, because that is not what I intended. If I die, it will be for Tom, George, for all those other kids around the world who just want to live, not go to war. You must know, that I took this assignment voluntarily, nobody forced me, I did it all myself. That is what makes me sorry the most. That it is me, who causes you such grief._

_It is time to be honest with you. Currently I am plain scared. I do not want to go, but I also have to, because of myself. Mum, there is nothing I want more than to sit outside in the garden with you, eating cookies, laughing about everyday things. Dad, I want to help you repairing all those little things that always seem to break in our house. I want to repair the roof, ride my motorcycle with you on the back seat (I know you loved that, although youd never admit it). _

_Tom, I am so sad that I will never meet your girlfriend, that I will never see you get married. But, Tom, trust yourself, youll be a great husband and an even greater father, I know. George, wherever you are, I hope you are safe, I hope you get the chance to read this letter, to know that I did not forget you. I hope you have not forgotten us._

_You lot were the best family a guy like me could have. Forget all the times I might have said otherwise, when I was angry or just overreacting. I know, I have not been nice to you always, but I guess, no one can always be. I will do everything I can to prevent this letter from ever coming under your eyes, I promise. I love you all so very much._

_Rob_

He did not reread the letter, but tucked it into an envelope and sealed it. Then he once more returned to his bunk. Another hour and he would be seeing Tim Dawson for a game of chess. Tim was his best friend, the only person to whom he could entrust the letter.

His gaze travelled over the small room. A desk, a small drawer, containing his dress uniform. He would never need it again, he presumed. His flight jacket was hanging over the only chair in the room. His cap was deposited on the desk, just beside the letter, he wished he had never had to write.

He knew every crack in the wall in this place. It was exactly three steps from desk to bunk, two from desk to drawer. He had paced many hours in this room, whenever a mission had gone wrong, whenever he had lost a plane, whenever a man had been lost.

What would the new commander be like? He suddenly wondered. Life would go on after he left this base. This thought was strange. The men would continue their missions, he would be grounded.

Through the small window, he could see some men playing football. It added to the surreality he felt. How could they be playing when his world had changed? How could anyone be playing while there was a war on?

Again he tried to stop thinking. When he did not succeed, he started pacing.

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Tim Dawson surveyed his fellow commander for a few moments. The man looked like a caged tiger the way he was marching up and down his quarters. When Hogan had not turned up at their usual meeting place, Dawson had come to look for him.

He waited patiently, but Hogan did not realise that he was standing in the doorframe, so he unceremoniously dropped his hand onto Hogans shoulder, startling him from his lost-in-thought state.

"Rob?".

"Tim? What are you doing here?".

Dawson smiled. _"_Its not that I am from a different universe. You merely forgot that we always get together on Wednesday evenings for a game of chess.".

Hogan looked bewildered. "Sorry Tim, I must have forgotten the time,".

Dawson gestured over to Hogans bunk. "Why dont you sit down and tell me what happened, you seem quite shaken up at the moment. In trouble again?".

Hogan shook his head. Then reached for the envelope. "Tim, Im sorry, but I can only tell you that I have been ordered on a Top Secret mission, or more correctly, I accepted it myself. I want to ask you to give this to my parents when it is certain I will not return, you know, like Will, Richie...".

His voice trailed off, but Dawson understood him. Both men had been on Hogans plane before they went on a Top Secret mission and never returned. Dawson himself was at that time still a major, flying with Hogan. Top Secret spelled for him a quick ticket home, in a bag.

Sadness filled him as he realised that he would have to miss his former commander, now colleague, very possibly forever. He took the envelope from Hogan. It was the least he could do.

"Youd better be back soon. Theres fried spam for dinner on Friday.". Lightness was all Dawson could offer Hogan now. He left silently, leaving his friend to his thoughts.

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That night, Hogan could not sleep. Again his gaze swept his room, but they did not see it. He was lost deeply in his thoughts, in his memories of a home that seemed further away than ever. He could as well have lived on the moon or on the edge of the universe, it was out of his reach.

He had heard more than just rumours about POW camps. He had seen the facts. Pictures, reports. But this was not what kept him awake. What kept him awake were the images etched into his mind of the Reichskristallnacht, the Nazis marching through Berlin and, most prominently, the rumours he had heard about death camps, extermination camps.

If this was all true. How could he expect to be taken alive? If Germany had changed like this, what guarantee did he have that he would be alive after they had captured him. And, who could guarantee that he would still be himself?

That, he feared the most. Being alive, but not being himself. Brainwashed, turned into a Nazi. Tortured, giving out secret information to the Gestapo. Who could guarantee, that he was strong enough?

He tossed and turned, but sleep eluded him and with the lack of sleep came the question, whether he would ever sleep peacefully, without fear, again.

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The next morning he left alone. Never before had he flown this plane alone, but he had not wanted to take his crew with him. They were all safely tucked in their beds, they did not know, what would happen today.

There was no one there to share his fears, no one to ease the panic he felt, when the heavy door slammed shut behind him. This period of his life was officially closed now.

He drove the plane onto the runway. "Baby Bear 2, this is Papa Bear, do you copy? Over.".

"Roger, Papa Bear, hear you loud and clear, over.".

"Baby Bear 2, if anything happens, youre in charge, lead them home safely okay? Over.".

"Papa Bear, this is Baby Bear, roger that. Over and out.".

Hogan sighed and turned from the intercom. He speeded up the plane and soon he felt that he was leaving the ground. Pulling the plane up he said a silent goodbye, before he concentrated on the task at hand.

_And so it begins. _He thought as the coast of Germany came in sight.


	2. Stone walls do not a prison make

_**Chapter 2: Stone walls do not a prison make...**_

Hogan relished the feeling of freedom for the last time. Flying had been a dream since his childhood, since his father had given him a small model plane to build. He had been fascinated by the model; a Sopwith Camel from World War I. In his dreams he had flown one many times, flying better than even the Red Baron himself.

Reality was less romantic. Planes were not like the Camel anymore. Still, he had felt the freedom, the joy of not being earth-bound. In the air, he was invincible; no one could touch him, sailing through white-clouded skies. Heaven certainly was in the sky. Heaven was calm and peaceful, where else could it be, if not up here?

As if to prove him wrong, Flak erupted all around him. Like a robot, he manoeuvred around the Flak. A push on a button released the bombs. He felt the bombs sliding into place, then the plane jumping up as its heavy load pivoted to earth. The factory beneath him went up in flames. Death was so easily forgotten up here. The sorrow caused by the bombs was hardly ever in his mind. There were bombs, yes, but they fell onto targets, not onto people. Life was easy, there was no death, no sorrow, no pain caused.

A feeling of dread rose in his throat when he rose from the pilots seat. Panic gripped him. Had not in that moment an explosion from the back of the aircraft reminded him of the war, he would have stayed where he was, unmoving, waiting for the plane to crash and take him with it, into its last, deadly fall.

He shook of all thoughts of dying and walked to the back of the aircraft. A feeling of surreality overcame him. Many times he had imagined what it would be like to bail out under enemy fire. The plane would be burning, his crew shouting. He would be in the midst, shouting orders, trying to keep the plane from losing altitude. A hopeless struggle but nevertheless tried.

In his thoughts all of this had been sudden, violent. It was not now. Everything seemed almost peaceful despite the Flak that was still exploding all around him. He had had time to mentally say goodbye, he had had time to think about how his life would go on. In his thoughts there had been less thinking, less reason, only fear as the parachute unfolded above his head, as he gazed after his crashing plane.

As in trance, he jumped. Now in reality.

He fell, but there was no fear, no pain, no feeling as Germany came closer and closer. Automatically, he pulled at the leash of his parachute and felt the thug of it seconds later. He was not thinking, not of his family, not of his home. Death was so close, but he could not think. He had often thought about what the moment of death would be like. In his imagination, his life had played out before his eyes, he had seen his family, his friends, but reality was so different.

He felt nothing. Empty, he floated down, until something sharp hit him. As pain exploded in his head, his nothingness was only enlarging as he drifted into unconsciousness.

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There was pain, so much pain. Hogan writhed around in agony, trying to find comfort, but there was none. The world was blue, the world was green, the world was black. There was noise, so much noise, but he could not discern what it was.

Suddenly, in all his misery he felt a cool touch to his forehead. Wet it was, but cool. A woman advanced on him, her face changing into all the girls Hogan had known. He did not know where he was, nor did he care. All he cared about was her cool touch to his forehead.

She stroked his hair and then she moved closer. He could feel her warmth beside him. He hugged her into a tight embrace and then he kissed her...

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Hogan momentarily forgot his pain, when he awoke, staring down the barrel of a gun, hugged in a tight embrace with a cow.

Embarrassed, he surveyed the person holding the gun, a farmer in his mid-forties. The cow was obviously his. The farmer gestured wildly at him with his gun. Hogan tried to get up, but discovered he could not. On one side, his trousers were covered in blood and at some places they were shredded to pieces.

He raised his hands in defeat, pointing to the shredded piece of cloth that had once been a fully functional pair of trousers. The farmer shouted something at a couple of other men who came over, talking in German amongst themselves.

"Was machen wir mit ihm?", the farmer with the gun asked.

_Id like to know that as well, Fritz. _Hogan thought. _What are you going to do with me?_

"Er ist Amerikaner, wir müssen ihn der Gestapo übergeben.", a younger man remarked.

_No, no, Fritz, not the Gestapo. Bad idea, bad plan, take me to the Luftwaffe. _Hogan thought, trying to influence the Germans by sheer force of will.

But it was not to be. The men nodded and pulled Hogan into an upright position.

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The march was endless. Hogan was dragged along by two of the farmers because he could hardly walk, but still it took so long. He also discovered that he was thirsty, hungry and tired. He felt like curling up in a corner to never come out again, hoping that the world would forget about him.

But Nazi Germany did not forget him. They reached a small farm. Hogan would have smiled had he not felt so much like crying. The farm was beautiful, small, painted in white with red roof tiles. A child was playing with a dog. A young woman in a white dress was sitting on a bench, reading a book. The birds were singing in the trees, the sky was blue.

Hogan felt like a homesick child in summer camp. The woman, the child, they reminded him so much of home, but the German and his bloodied trousers told otherwise. He was not home he was further away than ever. No home leave for him now.

The woman looked up from her book. Her eyes widened and she hurried towards the group of men standing in the yard.

"Vater, wer ist dieser Mann?", she pointed at Hogan. The farmer shook his head.

"Geh und hole deine Mutter, Angelika, er braucht Hilfe.". His voice was calm and unconcerned. He motioned to the men to move Hogan to the bench. There he could finally sit down. He relaxed a little, grateful for the bit of reprieve.

The farmer looked at him, concern in his eyes. "Do you understand me?", he said in reasonable English. Hogan nodded, confused. When another farmer had suggested the Gestapo his captor had been ready to turn him over. Now, he seemed unsure, he sounded comforting, friendly.

The farmer stared at him for a moment. His gaze rested upon the name patch on Hogans uniform jacket.

"Colonel Hogan is it?" Hogan nodded again. He would speak as little as he could. All his feelings screamed at him to talk to this man, to trust him, but his reason could not. His military training would not allow him to become friendly with a man he had just met, especially if the man was German and Germany the enemy.

The farmer tried again. "Colonel, my daughter is calling my wife. She will treat your leg. Then we have to turn you over to the German authorities, do you understand?"

Hogan nodded again, then managed a whisper. "Gestapo?"

Reassuringly, the German shook his head. "No, Colonel, the Luftwaffe. Hans," he pointed to the younger farmer who was standing a bit further away, "adores the Gestapo, he would like to turn you in to them. I, on the other hand……".

He said no more, only threw a look at the house and Hogan understood. This man was no Nazi he only wanted to protect his family. Hiding allied flyers was not a good way to do this. Maybe he was no underground man, but he was a decent person, Hogan sensed. His famous luck had held once again.

The young woman returned with another woman. It was clearly her mother. She was beautiful too, only older, an aged version of her daughter. She approached him carefully.

It saddened Hogan. She must be afraid of him.

Why shouldn't she be? He thought suddenly. After all he was the enemy, just as they were his. It was just that Germany did not seem like the enemy. When Hogan closed his eyes, he could almost believe that he was home again. The farmer and his family were friendly, he had not yet seen Gestapo or Luftwaffe. He had not yet seen brutality and he briefly

wondered whether all the rumors were true.

There was no time to pursue these thoughts further as the elder woman knelt down and looked at his trousers. She visibly paled at the sight of all the blood.

Hogan reached down and carefully removed the piece of cloth, exposing his leg, a piece of shrapnel deeply embedded in it. The blood had already begun to clot, but Hogan could see that the minute the shrapnel was removed, it would start bleeding again.

The woman seemed to realize this too. She said, softly "Colonel, I think this wound is beyond my ability to deal with. Günther," she pointed to her husband, "will get the doctor from town. Would you follow me inside? You look hungry and thirsty."

He nodded and made an attempt to stand up. Immediately Günthers arm shot out to help him, which he accepted gratefully. He followed them into the house where they seated him at the table.

Feeling strangely comforted, he had a long look at his surroundings. The furniture was made of wood. A large cupboard covered the entire wall on the right. Another cupboard similar in shape, but smaller stood in the corner on the left, which was the furthest away from him. On it were a few books, "Mein Kampf" amongst them.

This startled Hogan for a moment but then he remembered that one copy of the book had to be present in every house and when he studied the book more carefully, he could tell that it had not been opened much.

His gaze wandered further through the room. A large sofa, the furnace and the table at which he was seated completed the tour. When he looked to his left, he could see the kitchen. To his right was a door, which led outside and towards the stairs from which you could access the floor above.

His observations were interrupted when the woman came back carrying a tray with bread and some ham and cheese. She also brought him a glass of milk and then sat down opposite him, watching him dig into the food with appetite.

When he was finished they sat in silence, until Hogan felt the need to at least say something.

"Thank you". It was not much, but the woman's eyes lightened and she smiled. "It was nothing. Or more accurately, something everyone should do."

She carried his plate and glass back to the kitchen after he had denied her offer to have anything else.

When she came back again she said, "You can call me Heidi, if you like."

He blushed. "My name is Robert."

Her gaze turned distant and Hogan did not understand why. He saw a tear appear in her eyes, but dared not to ask. So they sat in silence for a couple of minutes until Heidi spoke again.

"Günther will be back soon."

Hogan nodded. There had been an unexplained sadness in Heidi's voice, but he dared not to ask, because who was he to pry into the lives of people he hardly knew?

He wanted to comfort her, put his arm around her shoulder and tell her everything would be all right, but he could not. Both because she was the wife of his German captor and because he now felt the need to huddle up in a corner or feel her arms around him, like his mother used to do. Heidi's unexplained sadness had made him realize what he had done to his family by accepting this assignment, more than any of his thoughts had. For a brief moment he wished that the last twenty-four hours could be undone.

Their silence was interrupted by Günther and another man in a black overcoat, who entered the room. Günther gestured to the other man.

"Colonel Hogan, this is Levi Millstein, a doctor. Levi, this is the Colonel I told you about."

The man nodded and shook Hogans hand. Bright blue eyes twinkled in amusement as he said. "Colonel, pleased to meet you."

Hogan flashed a grin. "Pleased to meet you too."

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An hour and many complaints later Hogan's leg was stitched and bandaged and he was sporting a new pair of trousers, much like his old ones. Not many words were said about this, only a muttered: "May they bring you more luck." from Günther. There was no need for more.

The doctor packed his things into black bag, which he handed to Günther. Günther vanished with it and returned soon after with his hands now empty. Hogan arched his eyebrows in question but the other men ignored his questioning look.

Heidi came into the room with a tablet with four steaming cups of coffee. "I heard you Americans liked coffee more than tea." she said and Hogan smiled gratefully.

All four of them sat down and nipped from their coffee. Günther turned his attention to Hogan.

"Colonel, I am sorry but I need to turn you over to the German authorities. I do not like it but I have to."

Hogan acknowledged Günthers statement with a nod but shot a questioning glance at the doctor. Günther shook his head.

"No, Colonel. I am not saying this because of Levi. He is a long time friend of my family and I know him not to be a Nazi. He is no danger. You, however, despite the fact that you are wounded and weakened by being shot down, are. If the Gestapo finds you here I and my family are on our way to Dachau...", he paused a moment, "or worse.".

Hogans eyebrows arched once more, but he decided to reply to the words spoken instead of asking more questions.

"I understand. I thank you for what you did for me and I will not try to harm you or your family. I will go.".

With these last three words, the last hope of freedom was lost, Hogan knew. He willingly gave himself up. With open eyes, he walked into captivity but he felt no regret. What had to be done had to be done. The choice had been made already, a day earlier.

Günther smiled, relieved. Heidi´s face darkened but she did not speak. Günther knew when he looked at her that the outburst would come later.

Levi too seemed to see this and he gestured them to leave the room. Hogan was surprised by the silent mans authority. The two people left immediately.

The thick wooden door muffled their voices but Hogan could hear that a heated discussion was going on between the two people. He struggled to hear the exact words, but could not.

Suddenly he felt the gaze of the doctor fixed upon him. When he turned he stared into brilliant blue eyes that seemed to contain centuries of wisdom and experience. Levi Millstein spoke softly.

"Colonel. I know that going into captivity is not easy, freedom not easy to give up, but you can remain free inside a prison, remember that.".

Hogan shrugged, unsure what to say, but Levi seemed to desire no answer, because he continued, a faraway look appearing in his eyes.

"Sometimes there is more freedom inside a prison than outside. Freedom is psychical not physical. Find the freedom in yourself and you will be a happy man.".

There was an overwhelming desire in Hogan to trust this man. Somehow he felt that Levi meant no harm, no betrayal. When he finally decided that he would trust Levi, Hogan spoke slowly, almost unwilling because he did not open up easily.

"I am so afraid. I am afraid that I will lose myself and that torture and pain will erase my sense of self. I am so afraid that I will become one of them.".

Levi took a long look at him, then he smiled. "Colonel. You will never be one of them, trust me, I know a Nazi when I see one, maybe that is why I am still able to enjoy relative freedom.".

Ignoring the puzzled look on Hogan's face, he stood. He gripped Hogan's outstretched hand firmly in his, gazed deep into his eyes and said: "Freedom is the most precious thing you can possess and it can't be taken from you. Trust in that, Colonel.".

He shook Hogans hand once more and then he left. Hogan stared after him for a long time, the previous moment etched into his mind. When the doctor had put on his overcoat, Hogan had seen a yellow star, prominentely displayed on it. In the middle of it there was the word _Jude_.

_No wonder he knows so much about freedom. No wonder Günther hides his things. _

A few minutes after the doctor had left, Günther and Heidi entered the room again. They sat opposite Hogan and looked very serious.

Günther was the first to break the silence.

"Colonel Hogan. My wife and I had a long discussion. If you want to we can give you shelter and help you escape out of Germany. I know this must come as a surprise but we feel that you are in danger when we turn you over to the Luftwaffe. My wife convinced me to offer you this option. I did not want to, because I was and am afraid that harm will come to my family, but I have changed my mind. I will help you gladly.".

Hogan shook his head. His assignment would not allow him to return and most importantly, Levi's words had given him the courage to carry through with his plans. He would not back off now.

"Günther, Heidi. As much as I appreciate your offer, I cannot accept it. You would endanger too much. I will not ask this from you."

* * *

A.N. :

1. The line _Stone walls do not a prison make _is a line from the poem _To Althea from prison _by Richard Lovelace.

2. The yellow star referred to in this chapter is the so called _Judenstern_. A law passed in September 1941 stated that all Jews in Germany from then on had to wear this yellow star to set them apart from the population and mark them as outcasts. The star had to be visible at all times. Trespassing on this law meant concentration camp.

At first, this plan did not seem to work. As Goebbels remarked in a letter to Hitler, the other people did show sympathy for the people wearing these stars instead of hate. This, however, changed as laws became stricter and stricter and in the end prohibited the other German people from coming into contact with people wearing these stars.


	3. But barbed wire a cage

I finally updated this story. Sorry that it took me so long again, but I had some computer problems. The rest of the story will come faster.

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_**Chapter 3: But barbed wire a cage**_

Hogan sat alone in the small and dark garden shed. A rope bound his hands together behind his back so that he could hardly move. He had said goodbye to Heidi and Günther earlier, before they called the _Luftwaffe _soldiers.

He had been moved here on his own request, the restraints had been his own idea. Heidi and Günther should appear loyal Germans and this was only another part of the deception.

In the dark, his doubts returned. Had his decision been right? Heidi had made him doubt his actions so much, he now was not sure about himself. The decision had been easily made in an office in England. The consequences were harder to bear.

He cursed himself for the idea of binding his hands together. Already he felt the strain on his shoulders. He wanted to move but could not. Helplessness overcame him. Why was he again out of control? How many times would he have to give up control over his life?

The _Luftwaffe _soldiers arrival was sudden and violent. The door of the shed was kicked open and at least ten guns pointed inwards. Hogan blinked against the light that was blinding him, but before his eyes had adjusted to the light the soldiers had kicked him to the ground and replaced the rope by handcuffs.

His hands now definitely immobilised, he was dragged outside between two soldiers. He tried to look at the farm once more but a rifle prodded him into action. Without protest he got onto the waiting truck.

_There is no way back now._

He risked one last look outside and saw Heidi and Günther standing together with a _Luftwaffe _Colonel, the leader of the patrol that had come to get him. The Colonel smiled and shook Günther's hand. Then he raised his right arm and stretching it said: "_Heil Hitler"_, before he parted, leaving behind the couple that looked so utterly alone. Had the _Luftwaffe _Colonel looked back he would have wondered about their silence, about their silent despair.

A rifle prodded between Hogan's shoulder blades and he turned his head, wondering whether he would ever see them again, whether he would ever be able to thank them for their kindness.

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Heidi and Günther wondered too as the truck disappeared down the road. They looked at each other, then again at the empty road. "_Alles hat sich verändert (1)_." Günther remarked.

Heidi nodded. "_Ich bin mir nicht mehr sicher wer der wirkliche Feind ist. (2)_"

Günther took her by the hand and led her into the house. A look at the table made his eyes fill with tears. There lay a telegram, a message from the _Wehrmacht_, which had arrived a few hours before they had found the American pilot. Their son would never return.

He took Heidi into his arms and, stroking her gently, said: "_Alles wird sich wieder ändern, glaube mir. Alles wird gut. (3)"_

They remained in each others arms for a long time, until Angelika came downstairs and joined them in their despair. Her brother would never come home and like her parents, she needed safety and comfort now.

The moments they spent together would forever remain in their memories as they experienced the absence of their son and brother even more. They were a family like there were so many others. A family, never whole again.

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Hogan sat in the back of the truck studying the canvas wall. They had been driving for hours now, darkness was falling quick and the contours of the people next to him faded away slowly.

There were six soldiers in the truck with him, fully armed, their rifles never straying. Hogan had gotten used to it over the hours but could not push away a twinge of uneasiness as the road became bumpier with every minute.

How many times had a prisoner accidentally been shot by one of the nervous guards? Hogan felt no desire to be one of them so he decided to gather his courage and talk.

"Hey guys. Why don't you move your rifles just a bit? I mean before you shoot somebody?".

"_Schweig, Gefangener!_" a soldier shouted. In the midst of this shout, the soldiers voice shot up two octaves turning his order into a nervous shriek.

Hogan studied the face of the soldier next to him more closely now. In the past hours he had been thinking so much about home that he had failed to study his current situation. A mental note was made. His guard would never stray again.

The soldier next to him was but a boy. Not much older than nineteen, perhaps twenty years. The others did not seem to be much older. The shrieking soldier even seemed younger, about seventeen.

And suddenly, Hogan hated the war more than ever, because he realised that most of these kids would not survive this war. That a lot of men, women and children would never see the end of Hitler's Third Reich even if they had no part in it.

He turned away from their faces, away from his senses. He did not want to see or think. Had in this moment someone offered him the chance to disappear into nothingness he would have accepted.

_It is strange that one has to come so close to their enemy to realise that they too are human._

He cursed himself silently for his folly, for his naivety. Having lived in Germany for years before the war started he should have known that both sides were human and that good and bad were not strictly separated.

_When did I lose my ideas of right and wrong? _ He suddenly wondered. How many people, innocent people had he killed up in the air? How many fathers, sons?

He now realised why he had been afraid of this mission. Not only because of the danger to his life, but because of the danger to his ideals. It had been so easy to forget, fighting had been so easy from far away.

When he joined the AirCorps, it had been because of the flying, because of the adventure. He did not like killing and thought he never would, but the Bomber missions had brought him satisfaction and made him proud. Fighting for his country had made his heart swell with pride. Shooting down a German plane was another victory for America.

_How fragile your beliefs must have been if one act of kindness, one German family can shatter your defences. How weak the propaganda, the so called pride for the fatherland. And how strong your childhood memory._

He looked around the truck again. These boys had joined the army too. Another army in another country. But their beliefs, their motives were the same. They too believed that they were right and that it was their right to kill other people.

_How dangerous belief is._

Now he realised that the American propaganda was in a way the same as the German. They too needed soldiers, volunteers in their war and both sides knew that they could not lose.

But, Hogan recalled, America's motive was different. Hitler demanded power, power over the world. America demanded peace, a peace that would not prevail if Hitler was allowed to continue. Hogan would fight this war for his side, for his ideals and dreams but he promised himself to never think black and white again.

_Never forget that Germans are also people and that no one is ever fully good or fully evil. Please, do not let me forget this ever again._

For another few hours they sat in the dark truck. Every now and then the truck stopped. Papers were shown. Every checkpoint seemed to take hours as all papers were checked and double-checked.

_German methods, German thoroughness. _

The soldier next to him shifted, trying to find a comfortable position on the hard wooden bench as the bumpy road proceeded.

Hogan tried to stretch his shoulders as his fingertips began to feel numb. His hands were bound together too tight, but he dared not to ask the soldiers to loosen them, fearing that they might think that he would try to escape.

_How little do they know of me. If they knew, they would not handcuff me. I will not escape. I cannot escape._

He smirked inwardly at this thought.

_Robert, they would not handcuff you if they knew. They would put you up against a wall._

He frowned. _That's actually not very funny at all._

Just as he thought that he would fall asleep any moment the truck stopped. A sergeant appeared at the rear end of the truck and shouted orders. The soldiers next to Hogan got up and pushed him towards the exit.

Before his eyes a large area filled with small wooden huts unfolded. The area was surrounded by barbed wire, a guard tower every now and then and guards, patrolling the fence. He could see people moving about slowly at the end of the row of huts. There were also some men playing football and behind him he could hear dogs barking.

There was no time to complete his survey as he was pushed from behind. He stumbled and fell down, crashing into the ground. When he opened his eyes again, leather boots had appeared in his field of vision. They were black and shiny, carefully polished. The laces were tight, metal caps protected the noses.

Hogan struggled upwards onto his knees and then finally managed to stand upright. He now stood eye to eye with a man in the uniform of a German major.

The man looked at him carefully. His eyes reached the eagles, pinned on Hogans shirt and he frowned. His face radiated disgust but also gloating as he spoke.

"So, a Colonel? We do not see the like of you so often. You are lucky to have been captured by someone else than me. I normally do not take prisoners." he smiled cruelly.

Hogan raised his eyebrows mockingly. "So that is why you are still a _major_?", he smiled. The man in front of him did not seem threatening and Hogan was too tired and too weary to make the effort to be polite. Mockery for Hogan was so much better in an unknown situation than respect.

The major glared at him, not understanding. Hogans smile broke into laughter as he realised that the German had not understood his insult.

A clicking sound near his ear made his smile fade away as quickly as it had come. Cold steel was pressed against his temple as the major advanced on him.

"You see, Colonel, the last laugh is mine. You are alone here."

Hogan shook his head and the smile reappeared. "I think there are about two-hundred other POW's here. Maybe you need a dictionary to look up the word "alone" ?"

The major gripped Hogan by his shirt and pulled him close. "Maybe you need to be reminded of your place, prisoner." a grin broke on his face "And when I say alone, I mean, alone!".

He gestured towards a guard standing by. The guard gripped Hogan by the handcuffs and led him away. Hogan had no choice but to follow and cast a threatening look at the major.

He was led to a small building, standing separated from the rest of the camp. A barbed-wire fence creaked open. Next was a door made of steel. The guard pulled the keys from his pocket and opened it. He also opened the next two doors, both made of metal. Then he pulled Hogan inside.

He was standing in a dark corridor which smelled of mud with an aftertaste of rotten eggs. The air was damp but surprisingly cold. To the left and right were metal doors each with a small slit that could be opened to look inside. Another door creaked open. The German guard smiled as he pushed Hogan into the opened cell.

The room was dark and smelled rotten. Hogan did not have time to look around as the metal door slammed shut. The last thing he heard were the words of the soldier that kept repeating over and over in his head.

"Welcome to Dulag 6, prisoner..."

**-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------**

**A.N.**

**Translations:**

1. "Everything has changed"

2. "I am not sure who's the real enemy now."

3. "Everything will change again, for the better."


	4. There must be more to life

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_**Chapter 4: There must be more to life**_

How long had he been in this room? His sense of time had long faded away. In this room there was only darkness, only night. There was no other indication of time than his aching stomach and cracking dry lips. He needed food, he needed water but there was none.

There were no guards in this dungeon and there was no light. Strangely, Hogan did not feel alone nor was he truly afraid. In his mind there existed the belief that water and food would come like they had always come at home and on the airbase. A belief in normality, in security still existed in his feelings, but every minute the darkness, hunger and thirst remained betrayed his trust and his hope for a future.

Moments later, or hours, Hogan did not know the fear and panic gripped him suddenly. He was not prepared for this, he had not known that there existed such a fear as he felt now. It hollowed him out from inside, controlled his mind and body. He curled up as to disappear but he remained where he was. He could think of only one thing.

No one would ever come. No one would save him and he would slowly rot away in this darkness, this ever lasting blackness.

These thoughts would not go away. He needed light, he needed comfort. He was so much afraid that he would die without ever seeing the sun again. Suddenly nothing seemed more important than seeing the light again. Everything would be good when there was light.

He hoped that they would at least grant him the reprieve of dying outside in the fresh air. Always had he thought of death coming in daytime. Death would take the light away, spiralling him into the dark. But how could he die this way when light was gone? He wanted to die but could not because it was dark and at the same time he wanted to live and could not, because there was no light. His existence seemed to be bound to daylight and in his fear he wondered why he had never realised this before.

Some time later he wondered whether he had already died. There were no sounds from the outside world. No indications that it still existed or that it would ever exist again for him. Was this death? He wondered. Was this the transition between life and death? Was it really so easy to go?

His mind resisted. There had been only two options for him. Either death was the end and nothing remained or there would be life after his death. A life full of happiness. A dream. Here there was neither. Just black.

His thirst consumed him. He could no longer think, no longer wonder. The ground beneath him was hard and cold but he lay down and did not want to move. His training screamed at him to preserve strength, to exert himself as little as possible. His mind said that it all was hopeless and that he might as well give in to his instincts and run and shout for his life.

The only thing that kept him alive during this time in the dark were his childhood instincts. He hoped as only a child could hope and he trusted his captors the way only a child can trust, without prejudices, without thinking about probability. Reality was not as important as this trust. If he could trust he would survive, he believed, locked inside the prison that was both physical and mental.

He drifted into a dreamless sleep, deep inside him the fear that he would never awaken and the hope that if he did all would be safe again.

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Hogans hope sunk as he awoke and realised that he could still see nothing. Again the world was black. He tried to pry himself awake hoping that he might still be asleep, but his hopes were destroyed as his eyes saw nothing but black.

Loneliness overcame him, panic rose in his throat. Who could guarantee that he still existed if everything was nothing?

In a desperate attempt to verify that he was still alive he shouted out. His voice rang in his ears, but no reply came. He shouted again and again until his voice cracked and he could barely croak another sound.

Exhausted he fell to the ground. Silently he sobbed into his jacket. Never had he been so desperately alone, never had he felt so helpless and above all, hopeless.

Boots scraped over the stone floor. A door creaked open and another one. Hogans ears gulped down the sounds from the outside world. Excitement rose up inside him. Suddenly there was a future. They were coming for him, he would not die.

The door opened and he blinked against the blinding light. On his hands and elbows, he crouched towards the door, too weakened to walk.

He had nearly reached the door when he was hit on the head by something hard. The object bumped of him and flew into the far corner of his cell. Immediately after this a splash of water soaked him through and before he could reach the door, it was slammed shut again.

His heart stopped beating in this moment and he felt his world come to a shrieking halt when a key locked his door again. The world laughed in his face and abandoned him again.

The fear and panic returned immediately and worse than before. First, boots had meant freedom. Now there was no hope, because every sign of freedom was mockery. Every hope was another joke played on him.

He lay down and prepared to die. When there was no one left who cared for him, when no one cared enough to set him free, why would he want to live?

A drop of water from his soaking wet hair trickled down his face onto his tongue, which was extended out of his mouth, much like a dog would do when thirsty. The water unleashed something in him he did not know he still possessed. Suddenly he wanted to survive. Not for anyone else. Not because of his parents or his brothers, just for himself. He wanted to survive just to avoid being dead. And this was enough for him.

He sucked the water out of his shirt. He licked the drops of water from the floor. Earth and dirt mixed with the water, but he could not afford to lose a single drop, because water meant life a life he was not yet ready to lose.

His thirst was quenched when he finally gave up on his attempts to gather any more water. Satisfied he rolled over and his hand touched upon a hard object. He took it into his hand but was unable to discern what it was. Then he brought it up to his nose, but the object had no smell.

Finally he stuck it into his mouth and discovered that it must have been a piece of bread, some time ago. It was hard as a stone and there was hardly any taste to it. Most likely it was also rotten, but he could not see this and after days of starvation he did not taste it either. The bread tasted better than the best piece of cake he had ever had.

He rolled over on his back again, gnawing at the piece of bread. The room was still dark and damp. He was still alone, but he could deal with it now he had eaten and had something to drink. As long as he lived he would have a future and as long as he could believe in a future, he could deal with everything that was thrown at him.

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The ritual of opening the door and tossing water and bread inside repeated itself a few times more. Hogan had learned that if he took of his shirt and used it to catch the water, he could get more than if he let it fall onto the ground, where it rinsed away into the dirt. His hope of escaping from this darkness had been shattered long ago. He now lived for the moment, just to live. No hopes, no dreams, just living.

Secretly he now hoped that this life would go on forever, because as long as he got enough food and water, he was safe. The outside world had betrayed him. Here there was only him, his thoughts and his planning made him survive. This little world he could control and as long as nobody intruded upon his world, he could not be touched.

But the outside world would not let him be. On a day which, as he would learn later, was the twenty-third day of his confinement, the door opened. No water was tossed inside, no bread. Instead he was handcuffed and led outside.

He blinked against the sunlight. It hurt his eyes and burned on his face. He pleaded the guards to lead him back into the cell, back into the dark, but they did not answer. They carried him up the stairs to the _Kommandantur_ and dropped him onto the floor in front of a desk.

His eyes adjusted slowly to the light and he was still blinded when a voice entered his misery.

"So Colonel. You are still alive? And do you now realise what I mean by alone? Or do you have any other smart remarks up your sleeve?".

Hogan closed his eyes. Darkness was again there, comforting him and blocking out the light. It gave him strength and the feeling of invincibility he needed as he shouted "Leave me alone you bastard!".

He had never before spoken these words with such venom and hatred, but he felt instinctively that the person in front of him was responsible for his current and past misery and deserved neither kindness nor respect.

The person fell silent obviously thinking of a suitable reply. When he found none, he gripped Hogan by his shirt and threw him against the wall. Still unable to see, Hogan could not prepare himself and he collided face-first with the wall and blacked out.

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When he awoke his first thought was that he could see again. The light no longer hurt him and he welcomed it like a relative he long ago had presumed dead.

There were many faces hovering over him. Some were concerned, some curious, others seemed indifferent. Fingers were thrust into his field of vision.

"Sir, how many fingers do you see?".

The fingers moved from left to right. They faded into each other and then mysteriously reappeared. He tried to count them and answer the question, but the fingers eluded his sight. His mind could not form the words to count them and he shook his head.

"There are too many.", he muttered before his world was again black and there was nothing more to comprehend.

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The next time there were no faces. Wooden boards hovered about half a metre from his face. He could see that there were nails hammered into them. There were also messages carved into the boards above him.

_I was here 9th September 1941_. One read and _Sally, I love you._

Sally. He tasted the name on his tongue. In his mind he formed an image of the girl that could bear this name. Beautiful, yes and right here beside his bed. He could almost see her there. Sitting on a wooden chair beside him.

The door opened. Sally came in and sat down beside him. She leaned over him and tried to look into his eyes. He looked back and the next thing he knew was that he gripped her and kissed her.

"Oh Sally." he murmured, before kissing her again and again.

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He awoke again some time later. His head felt much better now and he could see a lot clearer. He turned his head and saw a man sitting beside him.

The man's mouth was opened and he snored. Saliva dripped from his mouth onto his uniform. A small red cross on the collar of his shirt indicated that he was a medic.

Fascinated, Hogan watched the droplets that dripped onto the man's shirt and made a wet trail down to his pants. He followed the trail with his eyes. It looked like a river, a river full of water.

He ran his tongue over his lips. They were dry as parchment. With every minute, the desire to get water grew stronger and it was a relief to discover the glass, standing on a small table next to the medic.

He tried to sit up, but his head spun and he had to lay down again. Taking long breaths, he again attempted to get up, much slower this time.

Finally he stood on his feet and holding himself steady against the bed frame he shuffled towards the glass of water.

In his haste, however he had not seen that one of the floorboards was loose and he tripped, falling right into the medics lap.

He had never seen a man get up so fast. The man awoke with a startle, stared at him and then, jumped up and made a run for the door. Hogan slid down onto the floor and could only stare after him in amazement.

He could not wonder for long as four men bolted into the room. One of them helped him up.

"Sir, what were you doing out of bed?".

"I was trying to get some water", Hogan tried to say, but no sound escaped his cracked lips, so he pointed at the glass instead. Immediately, one of the men gave it to him and he drank greedily.

Now he had drunk, he could speak again and still amazed he asked one of the men. "Where am I, what happened and why did the medic run for the door the moment he saw me?".

The men snickered and one of them said, grinning broadly. "Well, sir to answer your last question. He was very much afraid that you would mistake him for Sally again.".

Now it was Hogans turn to want to run away and hide.

_Where is that hole in the ground when you need one?_


End file.
